Tree Out Of Tree.
I ate braised duck rice at Ghim Moh. The rice was infused with herbs and I assume duck stock, that it was actually closer to bah kut teh than their so-called bah kut teh. Why they still think chicken rice is their national dish will be a mystery.
The second day and the final day of your trip are always the most memorable. Second because you just got over the shock of arrival after a night’s rest; last because, well everyone is just grasping for straws on the final day.
Wait, so the new limit is eight people per truck? There’s no limit before this? They just what, pile on as many as they can?
“Yea, it’s kinda funny how you only notice this if you’ve been outside of Singapore.”
As I was being driven around by Carmen the first day, the second day, on the grab rides, it was impossible to ignore.
No seat belt, no helmets, who said Singapore is a safe country?
I want a life like Carmen’s, to be a local; not an ex-pat. An ex-chef in Saint Crispin, but also a fully qualified physiotherapist. To have a market to go to, to be able to have some sort of relationship with the locals. To know the food court vendors by name. To be teaching locals how to cook in her apartment.
I was up at the Singapore Flyer, getting city shots for the travel magazine. There was this perfect view of the MBS on the ground floor, but only a family was enjoying it.
I met my wedding couple at the executive lounge, top floor of the Conrad the night before their wedding banquet. Apparently, when you have a wedding in the hotel you get to use it.
They asked if I wanted anything, and I said no thanks.
They said are you sure we saved some charsiu puffs for you, and I said no thanks.
The waiter said the buffet station closes in 15 minutes, I said THERE’S A BUFFET STATION?
The guy said tonight’s red is Bourdeaux, I said THERE’S BORDEAUX ON TAP?
It’s not about being polite at that point, it’s about principle.
It’s about helping the couple get their money’s worth.
I loaded pears and plums into my pockets.
The night view wasn’t too bad too.
I have DMs after DMs asking me if I tried Yakun, and I should try Yakun, because Yakun is better than Kiliney, and honestly, I do not care.
People always assume I’m picky with food. As if my food needs to be to a certain standard.
No man, I’m surrounded by food because I have no standards.
Relationships aren’t always about the best; it’s about who was there when you need them the most.
Somehow, I miss the nasi lemak sambal from Kiliney because it was closest to my hotel. I went there the last morning after a walk at Fort Canning park.
And this quest, these checkpoints for you to travel and search for the ‘best’ whatever in town, sounds like a scam from a car, fuel, or you know, tire company.
I had two coupons left from my hotel to claim free coffee and pastries. I told the staff I only wanted two coffees and he could keep the pastries to himself. He made it sound like it was the most ridiculous thing he heard that day.
I ordered a coffee to start, and then a gin. Somehow the gin came and they’d forgotten about the coffee.
TCM - traditional Chinese medicine. There’s one in every shopping mall, and they have seven to eight types of herbal tea from the shade of sunflower yellow to bruised black, and you can tell them you have a sore throat and they add a secret packet of powdery ‘stuff’, shake it, and give it back to you.
The lady asked us to give them a 5-star review, and include her name and her manager’s. Really weird coming from a two-star Michelin restaurant. But I think it’s because of my friend’s purple finger, revealing that she 1. was Malaysian, 2. voted the day before and 3. cared about other Malaysians.
The lady serving us also had a purple finger. Hence, she thought we would look out for each other. Do I hear the theme of ‘Joy Luck Club’ playing?
For my friend, the food wasn’t great, tea wasn’t served fast enough, view wasn’t that great, but ok lah, not too expensive. (Well trained by Singapore.)
But consider that we called in last minute and got a table on a Sunday, occupied a table for two hours and only ordered from the dim sum menu and not their ‘empty your wallet’ menu, me flapping around with my camera, requesting them to open the window blinds for natural light, high ceilings, privacy, air-con … I just shut up and write the damn 5-star review. She deserves some KPI.
I saw the sunset at Sentosa Island. Despite knowing the sand was shoveled imported from Malaysia, it was a really good closure. I had no sadness, only excitement to go home to my daughter.
We were the last customer at the airport’s Bengawan Solo, nabbing a pandan chiffon cake and some kueh lapis. We sat right outside as we watched some travellers banging on the closed doors yelling ‘please lah!’.
As of last week, I still have people asking me how was Singapore (like, my parents) and despite my whinging, I also know I was being a giant ungrateful turd.
I met friends, I actually caught up with friends every day. Secondary school friend, university friend, post-graduate friend, friend of friend. And their kids smiled and laughed. My last friend walked me all the way to the departure gate.
I got paid to get on a plane and apply my skill set.
Don’t let my uncle-ness and pessimism fool you.
It was great.
But getting back to my family routine was greater.
Now let me tick this off my ‘to write’ list, and move on.